


Ten Words to Break a Strong Man's Will

by CoatTheBoneless



Series: Torturing Kote for fun and profit [2]
Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoatTheBoneless/pseuds/CoatTheBoneless
Summary: The spiritual sequel to my previous work. Crank the angst dial up to eleven and break the knob off. The Adem discover where Kote's been hiding.





	Ten Words to Break a Strong Man's Will

It was around noon when the front door of the Waystone Inn creaked open and an Adem mercenary stepped in. She wore her reds proudly, with a sword swinging in a scabbard at her hip. Her sandy hair was pinned out of her face by a tight bun. Her eyes shone like steel.

Bast was behind the counter, preparing for the evening's customers. Even as she stepped through the door, he took it all in: the reds, the sword, the hair, and the steel. He raised a hand in greeting, using the other to place bottles on shelves.

“Greetings! What can I get you?”

The mercenary looked over the bar, the wall of bottles, and the sword hanging on the wall. It was still the same Waystone Inn as ever; an immaculately clean space filled with tables, chairs, the bar, and a hearth. A good inn. A respectable inn.

“Have you seen a red-haired man?” she said. She made no gestures.

Bast gave a toothy grin. “Why, no I haven’t, miss.”

She fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You lie. I have asked others. You will not lie again.”

“Well then,” Bast said, maintaining his ear-to-ear grin. “He’s definitely not upstairs.”

The mercenary hesitated for only a split second before turning towards the stairs.

“No, he’s most certainly heard your barking and escaped out a window.”

The mercenary turned back to him, eyes blazing but face still impassive. “You will not fool me, barbarian,” she said. She turned back towards the stairs.

“Might I accompany you?” Bast asked, cheerily. When the mercenary turned and opened her mouth to speak, he held up a ring of keys, jangling them. “Can’t have you kicking down any doors, can we?”

As they searched through each room, the mercenary became increasingly frustrated. She shoved aside furniture and pulled out rugs in an effort to find where the innkeeper might be hiding. But he was nowhere to be found. A part of Bast was overjoyed; he’d never been able to find an excuse to do this himself.

For good measure, the mercenary demanded to search the bar and basement. But the red-haired man wasn’t there either.

After hours of fruitless searching, the mercenary stood.

“Perhaps you did tell the truth, barbarian. I shall hunt him as he attempts to escape.” The mercenary made a short series of gestures subconsciously that Bast didn’t understand. He guessed they meant something along the lines of _fury_ and _vast frustration_.

It was at that moment that Kote walked in the door.

Everything happened in an instant. The mercenary reached for her sword, quick as lighting. But Bast was faster, and had a hand on her sword arm and opposite shoulder before she could get it halfway out of its sheath. They both tried to unbalance the other simultaneously and both succeeded, sending them toppling to the ground. The mercenary managed to unsheathe the blade, only for bast to knock it away. Throughout all this, Kote stood stunned, a sack of vegetables cradled in his arms.

Then Bast and the mercenary became locked in a grapple, and Kote seemed to wake up. He dropped the vegetables, strode swiftly over to the two, and yanked on one of the mercenary’s leather straps, loosening them both from each other’s grasp. Bast managed to kick out, sending the woman rolling away. She stumbled into a table, and was quickly on her feet again. But she did not attack. Instead, she simply crouched there. Waiting. Kote looked her over and an expression of pain covered his face like a sheet.

“Hello,” he said.

She did not reply.

“I know what you’ve come for,” he continued. “I know what I’ve done. You have every right.”

Bast tensed, as if he wanted to protest, but did not take his eyes off of the mercenary.

“No. You do not know.” She rasped. “You cannot know.”

Pain washed anew across Kote’s face.

“The School of the Sword Tree is no more,” she hissed. “We were driven from Ademre after what you did. Some were forced. Most went willingly. As did I.”

Kote paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“And then you brought the Scrael. Even a united Ademre couldn’t hope to stand against them. And our warriors were scattered across the four corners. The old School of the Sword Tree are now the last of us.”

Even Bast wavered slightly upon hearing that. Kote’s eyes were no longer green. They were an ashen gray, to match his skin.

“No, you do not know. YOU DO NOT KNOW!” She roared the last, her own pain and rage breaking over her facade of calm like a dam bursting. She charged forward, faster even than her previous lightning speed, and punched Bast in the throat. He went down, choking and gasping. She then stood to her full height, her impassive mask sliding down over her face once more. She slowly strode towards Kote, punctuating each step with a sentence.

“You stole our ways. You stole our sword. You shamed us with your actions. You murdered us by the thousands.”

As she approached, Kote bent. He picked up the dropped sword, grabbing it by the blade. Blood welled around his palm as he extended it, hilt first, towards the mercenary.

The mercenary regarded the sword for a moment, took it, and slid it into its sheath with a _snap_.

“No, I am not here to kill you. I am a messenger. And I see that my message has been received. This is a fitting punishment for you, Kvothe the Bloodless.” And with that, the Adem mercenary turned and left.

Kote knelt a long time, letting the blood flowing from his palm seep into the wood floor. When he finally looked up, he found himself staring into Bast’s eyes.

“Do you see now?” he asked. “You want me to be Kvothe. You bring scribes to help me remember. You send thugs to wake me up.”

“But why would I _ever_ want to be that person again?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coat-the-boneless)


End file.
